


Rhytmical Expression

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Argentina, Dancing, F/M, Post Season 3, bedannibalprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 02:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “Would you like to dance?” Hannibal asks unexpectedly, his hand covering hers. Bedelia swallows her bite, looking at the empty space and then back at him; he knows she does not wish for them to draw attention to themselves, but he does not care.





	Rhytmical Expression

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awayfromsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awayfromsight/gifts).



Hannibal Lecter is feeling alive. Eyes closed, he wakes up slowly, engaging each of his senses one by one. The lively chirping of the birds outside the window reaches his ears first; he listens closely, enjoying the melodic sound, even if he does not understand the conversation. The open window invites the first breeze of the morning, carrying with it a fragrant, sweet scent of pink flowers blooming on the silk floss trees in their garden. He inhales and exhales deeply, feeling his lungs expanding with the surge of fresh air, something they were denied for many years. The breath of wind strokes his face and Hannibal shifts, luxuriating in the feel of the soft, cotton sheets against his limbs. He stretches lightly, enjoying his space, enjoying his freedom.

Finally, all his senses focus on the warm, petite body of the woman pressed against him. He draws breath once more, but this time the only fragrance reaching his nostrils is the aroma of her skin, sweeter than any flowers in existence. Her breaths are even, gently caressing the skin on his neck, telling him she sleeps, peaceful and undisturbed. He holds her body close, fitting seamlessly against his, a missing piece of him, finally restored. Her skin is silky under his fingers, as soft as he remembered, and he cannot refrain himself from touching her.

Lastly, he opens his eyes. The bedroom is big and bright, white canopies and curtains, windows full of sun; it feels as if they are suspended on a cloud. But Hannibal pays no attention to any of this. His gaze immediately falls on Bedelia, ensuring himself that she is truly here, and not just another dream of his feverish mind. Her hair is spilled on his chest, golden locks seizing the first rays of the morning sun. His fingertips slowly trace the length of her hair, before brushing it aside and revealing her beautiful face. Hannibal smiles and leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead. His lips linger on her skin, revealing in its velvety feel. Bedelia stirs and opens her eyes. She looks up at him and he has no doubts that it is not a hallucination; her eyes are so intensely blue, like an ocean on a summer day, endless water shimmering in the light. The image of her in his mind could never mirror them accurately. He looks back at her, mesmerized by her gaze.

He could live without ever seeing the ocean again, but he could not live without her.

 “Good morning,” he whispers, not wanting to awake her too abruptly. Bedelia sighs contently, then closes her eyes again, nuzzling his chest. He smiles broadly; she has never been a morning person.

Hannibal Lecter is alive, but it feels different than before. He was greedy and restless then, challenging the whole world to see him, witness all of him, once it glimpsed beneath his veil. The hubris became his downfall and the world was not bothered at all.

Now all that matters to him is Bedelia, the only person who saw him and cared for him. He does not mind if the whole world felt apart, as long he has her in his arms.

They have been in Argentina for two weeks now, their house located in the outskirts of Buenos Aires, a quiet and secluded area, away from the crowds and preying eyes. Not that they have anything to fear, Hannibal is certain they are safe here.

 

“We should be cautious,” Bedelia says to him over breakfast later that morning. They are sitting in the garden and while she enjoys the freshly cut mangoes, he enjoys the way the sun envelops her in a radiant embrace.

“The FBI cannot reach us here,” he ensures her at once, finally helping himself to a piece of fruit.

“Not all those looking for you are respecting international laws,” she presses on, a knowing stare.

She remains the grounding force in his existence, as she was before, and he would not have it any other way. Still, he wishes for nothing more than to disperse her worry. They hardly left the bedroom since they took up their residence here and Hannibal does mind it in a slightest, but he is eager to explore the capital at times. But only with her by his side.

“This is a big city, Bedelia, much bigger than Florence. No one will find us,” he continues.

The blue of her eyes turns to steel, she does not need to say the words for him to know what she is thinking about; the real reason they were found in Florence. He averts his gaze in silent contrition.

They are taking small steps, learning their intricate dance anew. He wants nothing more that for her to trust him again.

 

“We should go out for dinner tonight,” Hannibal suggests as the day draws to a close, “I have encountered a wonderful place nearby.”

Bedelia watches his intently from her spot by desk in the study, surveying the existing book collection, deciding what to keep and what to remove. The volumes in front of her are now forgotten, as she ponders the proposal, trying to determine any possible dangers. She must realise he does not normally favour food which he has not prepared personally; it is an offering on his part and the harder for her to deny him.

“All right, if the restaurant is up to _standards-_ ” she lets the last word hang in the air, no doubt hoping a threat of mediocre dining would make him reconsider, but he is prepared for that.

“It is adequate,” he responds, standing next to her, “But the company is everything,” he adds with a smile, taking her hand and kissing it.

The corner of her mouth turns up slightly, a sign of her accord. Hannibal cannot fight the smile forming on his own lips; these little things are what he missed the most.

 

He observes as she puts on a dress, a soft shade of vermillion with a low-cut neck. She looks almost as stunning as she does naked. _Almost_. He sits patiently on the bed, waiting to be called for assistance, even if his fingers tingle with yearning. She turns to him at last and he is by her side in a blink of an eye. He takes his time fastening her zipper, fingers moving slowly and deliberately; he is determined to savour every moment with her.

As promised, the restaurant was located within walking distance. While they stroll, Hannibal’s eyes remain on Bedelia, admiring the way the silk material sways around her figure. A broad hat shields her from the last rays of the still strong sun, or perhaps the unwanted stares. For now, they remain the only people walking down the street, her hand around his arm, right where it belongs.

The restaurant is small but pleasant, amber lights and cosy tables. The head waiter shows them to their table at once, the best one in the house, selected during Hannibal’s preliminary visit. His taste has not changed or faltered in any way and he has left nothing to chance. And Bedelia deserves only the best things.

They enjoy their aperitivos in silence. Hannibal takes a sip of his Fernet; it burns, sweet and intense, in his throat and he relishes the sensation. The melange of spices reminds him of the woman in front of him. He continues to observe her while their dishes arrive, enjoying the way she cuts into her tender lamb and slowly savours the bite. Hannibal is so lost in watching her that his own meal is forgotten.

“Is there anything you would like to talk about?” she breaks his haze, setting down her fork and staring back at him.

It is somehow ironic, Hannibal thinks, that he spent three years in a psychiatric institution, but received no psychiatric help; Bedelia had long forgone her _official_ role, but she is always ready to guide him.

“No,” he smiles at her, “I am simply enjoying the ambience.”

“Your meat is getting cold,” she adds with a barely concealed smirk and Hannibal’s heart misses a beat.

He feels _happy_ ; it sounds so simple, but it has never been simple for him. He hopes she is contended too, although it is hard for him to find the right way to ask her. They have all the time in world, but his impatience takes reins at times.

It is a quiet evening in the restaurant with only a handful of patrons. The band plays smooth bossa nova in the background. The space in the centre of the room is reserved for a dance floor, but remains unoccupied at present.

“Would you like to dance?” Hannibal asks unexpectedly, his hand covering hers. Bedelia swallows her bite, looking at the empty space and then back at him; he knows she does not wish for them to draw attention to themselves, but he does not care. He extends his hand, a further invitation, and, after a moment of deliberation, Bedelia places her hand in his and allows him to guide her to the dance floor.

He embraces her surely, his hands finding their place with ease, as if he has never stopped holding her. They begin to move, a perfect and effortless unison, but Hannibal can sense her tension.

“You have nothing to worry about, Bedelia,” he gazes at her, wanting her to see the truth in his eyes, “Not while you are with me. I will keep you safe.”

“Until your next _distraction_?” she asks, holding his stare, challenging his sincerity.

“There is no next distraction. There is just you and me,” he was never more certain on anything in his life.

Bedelia remains silent as they continue to dance, their movements as gentle as the balance they are attempting to restore.

“I have learned from my mistakes,” Hannibal continues after a moment, “I came back to you.”

“So I can tend to your injuries. Again,” she responds calmly.

“No,” he says, remembering the careful, gentle touch of her hands as she mended his wounds; it was so much more than just first aid. It was the only thing he craved during long, lonely nights in his cell.

“So we can leave together, Bedelia,” he states, “And you did, again. You are here with me.” His voice swells with emotions that spill over his heart.

In an instant, the slow music stops and is immediately replaced by a more upbeat one, guitar strings plucked back to life and vibrating lively. Bedelia stares at Hannibal as if he has somehow arranged for that to happen. He hasn’t, but he says nothing; it feels like a perfect way to emphasise his point.

In one smooth motion, he draws her closer. Then he waits, allowing her to pull away, but she doesn’t. As the music expands, the chords becoming more spirited, his hand moves from its practiced spot on her back, travelling down her spine, caressing her through the fabric of her dress. His touch shifts to her hip, tracing its curve, long and languid movement. He pulls her hips against his, until they are flush. Bedelia gasps, but still does not withdraw. Hannibal rolls his hips from side to side and, to his surprise, her body follows.

“I missed this,” he says while his eyes burn with the newly awaken ardour and she knows he is not talking about the dance. His other hand brings hers to rest on his chest, proper pose abandoned, and they continue to sway, their limbs unfolding with ease. He can see the spark kindling within her eyes as well, mirroring his own passion, his only true match.

Unexpectedly, Bedelia pushes herself away with her hand and turns, her back to his chest. Her body undulates, moving slowly, a luscious wave moving from her hips all the way up to her swan-like neck. Hannibal watches her, entranced, and the world around them slowly dissolves. She sweeps her hair back and he needs to remind himself they are in public. Her hips swaying more prominently now, she steps further away from him with a teasing glance over her shoulder. Not letting her move away too far, he grasps her by the wrist, running his thumb along the sensitive skin underneath and pulls her back, making her spin before he cradles her again.

“I don’t want to hide. I want to dance with you,” he states, his voice now huskier with lust, “I want to dance with you forever.”

Sensuously and deliberately, they rock together, their bodies brushing, moving as though they are one, their eyes lost in each other’s. Finally, the music ends, but none of them notices; their bodies now moving to their own rhythm, deep within their hearts.

 

The night envelops the streets in black velvet, when they finally return home, walking hand in hand, both feeling slightly intoxicated as much by the drinks as by each other.

Suddenly, Bedelia stops abruptly, bringing Hannibal to a halt too. He turns and looks at her, half wonder, half worry shining through his eyes in the dark. But she merely smiles and steps closer to wrap her arms around his neck.

“I missed this too,” her voice is a balmy murmur in his ears, but he hears every word louder and cleared than ever before. His own arms circle around her waist and he lifts her up. A surprised gasp flees her parted lips, but it is soon silences by Hannibal’s lips as he kisses her cordially.

The world around them disappears completely; there are just the two of them together and nothing else matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Bossa nova is Brazilian music, I hope it was not too much of a stretch having it played here. This was prompted by Lena, asking for bedannibal + sexy dance. The Argentinian setting inspired me to turn this into a full story about their first weeks back together and reclaiming their connection. I know it took me forever to write this, I hope it was worth the wait! ♥


End file.
